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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438622">Finding the Greener Grass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam'>poselikeateam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Vampire Bards (and the Witchers Who Love Them) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angry Lambert (The Witcher), Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothers, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Lambert, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gwent (The Witcher), Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, Lambert Being an Asshole (The Witcher), Lambert sabotaging his own happiness, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Near Death Experiences, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Trans Lambert (The Witcher), Valdo Marx Being an Asshole, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampire Valdo Marx, as is canon, he can be both</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:53:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts as just a rematch at Gwent, soon turns into... a lot more. </p><p>Lambert is aware that there's something not quite right with bards. He personally knows at least two witchers who have, somehow, each gained one as a travelling companion. What he never expected was to become the third. And he sure as shit never expected it to turn out the way it does.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lambert/Valdo Marx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Vampire Bards (and the Witchers Who Love Them) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trans Characters in The Witcher Universe</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Listen, honestly. You are just going to have to trust me.</p><p>ETA: I forgot to check the “multiple chapters” box at first, my bad. There’s gonna be a few chapters, and probably some related oneshots besides</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's not particularly often that Lambert finds himself in the employ of the nobility. Unlike a certain white-haired fucker he knows, he is able to keep himself out of trouble. Mostly. </p><p>Okay, he doesn't keep himself out of trouble, per se, but he sure as shit doesn't get into the kind of trouble that Geralt does, the kind that makes him all famous and shit. He's not jealous or anything — fuck knows he'd throw himself into the fucking Pontar if he had to deal with that kind of scrutiny. It's bad enough just being seen in general. No, it's just that if he hears one more bard sing about the exploits of a man who's only ever had one name for his fucking horses, he's going to lose his shit. </p><p>The thing is, he loves Geralt. Really. And while someone might say, <i>but Lambert, if you love him, shouldn't you be happy to hear about him, to hear he's doing well for himself?</i> the fact of the matter is anyone who would <i>actually</i> say that has to be a special kind of stupid. He loves Geralt because they're <i>brothers</i>. He knows what Geralt is like, and he's <i>nothing</i> like the songs. The man can fart the Temerian national anthem, for fuck's sake. He's not some majestic hero, he's just <i>a guy</i>. </p><p>So, yeah, really Lambert just hates the weirdness of it all. Sure, some people in general are slightly less shitty than they were before Geralt got a pet bard. Sometimes, Lambert doesn't have to fight just to get paid for his fucking work. Unfortunately, it has also made some people think he's <i>approachable</i>. </p><p>He is not.</p><p>Lambert is as prickly as an echinops, and damn proud of it. Just because some human decided to follow his pigshit brother around, doesn't mean <i>he's</i> magically going to start being nice to every Tom, Dick, and Jane that tries to chat him up in a tavern. He knows what people are like. He might be the youngest witcher of his School, but that doesn't mean shit where humans are concerned.</p><p>(As a side note, Geralt <i>claims</i> that his bard is human, but Lambert isn't buying it. He's pretty sure the guy's part elf or something, because humans just don't <i>last</i> that long. He's not going to bring it up, though. Ain't his business, ain't his problem.)</p><p>Ugh, there he goes again, thinking about Geralt when he doesn't need to. Eskel never gives him this much fucking stress. He only has to deal with <i>Eskel</i> during the winter. </p><p>The point is that while <i>some</i> witchers can't seem to stay the fuck away from nobles and royals, he generally keeps his distance. Peasants don't really pay well, but they usually pay, and there's more work for tiny, backwater villages than there is for castles and shit. </p><p>Sometimes, though, things happen. No witcher's ever been able to avoid the upper crust entirely, even though any witcher worth his salt would surely <i>want</i> to. And, he has to admit, they <i>do</i> make it worth his while, when he does deign to take a contract from them.</p><p>Like this most recent one. He's somewhere in Cidaris, and some lord needed a witcher. Shit happens. Really, he shouldn't have taken the job. The risk was high, but so was the reward, and it's so fucking rare that they're proportional like that. He couldn't <i>not</i> take it. </p><p>So Lambert, all by his lonesome, had to clear out an entire fucking crypt that no one had set foot in for a hundred fucking years. </p><p>It was the kind of job that he'd normally only take if he happened to be travelling with Aiden, but the Cat had fucked off a few months ago. They meet up from time to time at random, stick together for a little while, and then part ways when they start getting sick of each other's habits. It's the only friendship Lambert's ever allowed himself, since the absolute fucking shit show that was the Trials. Since everyone... </p><p>Whatever.</p><p>See, this is why he doesn't think about this shit. It doesn't do him any good. Just makes him feel all weird, makes his throat do this stupid closing-up thing, and then he gets all pissed off. Sometimes he doesn't feel right again for days. So, fuck that, thank you very much.</p><p>Anyway, he took the job, and maybe a big motivator was the money and maybe another one was that he’d been itching to try out some new improvements to his bombs and maybe it’s <i>nobody’s fucking business but his</i>. It doesn’t matter why he did it, just that he did, and it went well. Whole crypt cleared out, no problem. </p><p>And maybe it’s partly to do with the aforementioned shift in public opinion about witchers, or maybe the lord just wanted to play at magnanimity, or maybe he wanted to show off his wealth, or maybe he’d actually been grateful. Fuck if Lambert knows, and fuck if he cares. Whatever the reason, the lord decided to throw a big, fuckoff banquet to celebrate Lambert killing some fucking monsters for him.</p><p>Awesome.</p><p>Because if there’s one thing Lambert loves, it’s being around humans. They absolutely don’t stink like piss and sweat, and they definitely aren’t loud as fuck, and they don’t bug the fuck out of him, not one bit.</p><p>But as much as he’d rather just pocket the coin it’d cost to throw the stupid fucking party, he knows that sometimes, you just gotta play along. He tries to look on the bright side (which he can absolutely do, fuck off) — free food, free booze, and as much of it as he can stomach.</p><p>Actually, he’s almost looking forward to it now.</p><p>When he gets there, it’s about what he’d expect. People stare at him openly, only averting their eyes when he makes it clear he’s noticed them. They whisper behind their hands, like not being able to see them talk will be enough to confuse his witcher senses. Mostly, they stay out of his way, so honestly, he’s determined not to give a fuck. </p><p>And most of the evening, he doesn’t. A few brave souls try to engage him in conversation, and Lambert delights in scaring them off simply by being himself. Even those too brave or stupid (or both) to avoid him just for being a witcher have their limits, and apparently for all of them the limit is his <i>manners</i>. </p><p>He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s actually really nice having people dislike <i>him</i>, not for what he is, but who he is. He would rather be Lambert the Asshole than Lambert the Witcher.</p><p>Anyway, it’s not terrible, is the point. He likes being able to eat and drink as much as his stupid fucking mutated body can take without having to pay for it, and yeah, maybe dressing up in fancy clothes fucking sucks, and maybe it’s boring as shit, but it could be worse. </p><p>It could also be better.</p><p>So Lambert does what he always does when he’s bored out of his fucking skull: he gets out his cards. </p><p>If there’s one thing that’s universal, it’s Gwent. Doesn’t matter whether he’s in a tavern or a brothel or a fucking lord’s manor, there’s going to be <i>someone</i> willing to play him. And, like flies to honey, a few brave, bored souls wander over his way when he starts performatively shuffling his deck. </p><p>Of course, if there’s another thing that’s totally universal, it’s how fucking shit everyone else seems to be at the game. And on one hand, Lambert’s not complaining, because he will never say no to some easy cash. It’s just that it can get kind of stale pretty fast, not having an actual <i>challenge</i>. </p><p>He’s about to just give up and put his deck back away when his most recent opponent lets out a low whistle and says, “Damn, witcher, you might even be better than the bard!”</p><p>“What bard?” he asks, sneering the word the same way people tend to sneer <i>witcher</i>. </p><p>Sensing his irritation (which, to be fair, it’s not like he was trying to hide it in the first place; it’s not like he’s <i>ever</i> tried to hide it, really) the man averts his eyes in obvious discomfort. “The, er. The one playing. Playing music, I mean. Right now. There. Erm, Valdo Marx, is his name.” The man gestures to another man, the one with the lute who looks like he takes himself <i>far</i> too seriously.</p><p>Might be good to take him down a peg. </p><p>Maybe it’s the promise of a challenge, or maybe it’s the way the bard seems to look down his nose at everyone as he scans the room, or maybe it’s just because he’s bored as fuck and a little shit besides. Either way, Lambert finds himself waiting for the minstrel’s set to end, and sauntering over, Gwent deck in hand.</p><p>“You’re Valdo Marx?” he asks, crossing his arms. </p><p>“I am,” he answers, chin raised in what could be either haughtiness or defiance. Honestly, might be a bit of both. Lambert hates the tiny spark of respect it makes him feel. For some reason, musicians just don’t seem to know what fear is, at least where witchers are concerned. Something in the water in Oxenfurt, maybe. “However, I regret to inform you, Master Witcher, that I do not take requests.” </p><p>It’s a clear dismissal. The thing is, Lambert has never been the type to give a fuck. Marx tries to step around him, and Lambert steps fluidly to the side, blocking him yet again.</p><p>“And I don’t make ‘em,” Lambert says. “Don’t give a fuck about music at all, really, but I hear you play Gwent.”</p><p>Marx pauses, giving him this <i>look</i>, scrutinising, like he’s trying to translate something in another language he’s halfway forgotten to speak. Finally, he says, “I do.” He sounds almost hesitant, like he wants to see where this is going to go but doesn’t want to admit that he’s actually interested.</p><p>Lambert knows the feeling. And, like all other feelings, he pushes it down as far as it will go.</p><p>“Well then,” he says, all bravado, “if you’re as shit at cards as you are at singing, I should be making some easy money.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marx had bristled, as Lambert expected him to. That stupid moustache of his had twitched and it was honestly sort of funny. And, of course, Marx took the bait.</p><p>They ended up playing round after round. Lambert would win one, then Marx, then Lambert again. While this would normally mean that Lambert won <i>in general</i>, they never <i>got</i> a best two out of three, because they kept fucking <i>tying</i> too. </p><p>He had expected to be frustrated, but honestly, it was <i>fun</i>. There was a thrill to it, certainly, as the pot grew and grew. They attracted a crowd. Lambert joked that their game had brought in more entertainment value than Marx’s musical performance. Marx answered by positively <i>kicking his ass</i> in the next round. </p><p>On and on it went until the party started to wind down, and the nobles were eager not only to leave and go to bed, but to get the witcher back on the Path and out of their hair. Finally, they’d had to concede that there was not going to be a winner that evening. They split the pot evenly, and promised that should they see one another again, there would absolutely be a rematch.</p><p>The thing is, Lambert was sure that he was never going to see the troubadour again. Why would he? They live two <i>very</i> different lives, after all; and Lambert doesn’t really make it a habit of going to fucking castles and fancy parties.</p><p>...Until he does.</p><p>And look, okay, he knows what it looks like, but <i>fuck off</i> because it’s not like that <i>at all</i>. He just can’t stand to leave something unfinished, alright? Their game needs a fucking winner. That’s the only reason he thinks about Marx — it’s not <i>him</i>, it’s the <i>game</i>. It has nothing to do with the way Marx was able to keep up with his banter, giving as good as he got but never falling back on the same old insults he’s used to getting as a witcher. It’s nothing to do with the way that everyone else just became background noise, the way the troubadour was able to capture his attention so fully, the way their time playing together flew by in a way that time, frankly, never has. He’s just thinking about Gwent, okay? He’s determined to win the rematch. That’s <i>it</i>. </p><p>Anyway, he ends up sticking around. He does another job for the same lord, and when he goes to collect his pay, he asks about Marx. It’s just a casual question. “That bard still here?” And of course, it’s just Lambert’s luck that he isn’t. In an unprecedented stroke of good fortune, though, he learns that the bard is on a circuit, and he learns where the fucker is meant to be performing for the next few weeks. He also happens to learn that they might be in need of a witcher.</p><p>Yeah, maybe it’s just the lord trying to get the witcher out of their hair. He doesn’t really care — it’s not like he wants himself to stick around more than he has to, either.</p><p>He ends up following the lord’s directions, even though he hadn’t planned on going that way before. Just one rematch, he thinks. </p><p>It does not work out that way. </p><p>No matter how many times they play, it’s the same stalemate bullshit as the time before. For the rest of the year Lambert ends up… not following Marx, okay, that would be ridiculous. He just ends up taking the same path. </p><p>They run into each other a lot. They start doing things other than Gwent and spending time together in places other than the halls of impatient lords. He doesn’t really know how, but this weird antagonistic friendship-thing they have going on just crept up on him until it was just <i>there</i> and at that point all he could do was deal with it. Now, they’re comfortable together. He’s not on-edge, watching his back, hypervigilant the way he usually is when humans are around. Marx has a commanding presence, when he wants to, but he can just as easily fade into the background. Being around him is <i>easy</i>, and Lambert’s been doing it more and more as time passes. Sometimes he’s there and sometimes he’s not, but neither is strictly more annoying than the other. </p><p>Marx is lounging on the shitty bed in Lambert’s room, smoking some suspicious herbs from a clearly well-loved pipe, when he suggests it. “Why don’t we just travel together?”</p><p>Lambert, sitting with his legs crossed in the middle of the floor, pauses, sets his mortar and pestle on the ground between his legs, and squints at the troubadour. “Why the fuck would we do that?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Marx says, “Your Path is clearly taking you, by some coincidence, in a route similar to my own. If we’ve got the same destination, why not share the journey?”</p><p>And that’s… weird. It’s fucking weird. For one, “Don’t you constantly bitch about, and I’m quoting you here, <i>musicians who have nothing better to do than trudge through the wilderness, eagerly chasing after a witcher like a starved mutt</i>?” </p><p>Marx rolls his eyes, and Lambert can see a flicker of genuine irritation in them. “Don’t be daft, for once. I’m not suggesting I follow you around the blessed Continent. I’m suggesting we share the road between our own destinations, when they happen to align.” </p><p>It’s the same thing, and Lambert knows that, but he also knows when to pick his battles… sometimes. Such as now, when he picks a different fight entirely, one that doesn’t feel nearly as much like he’s wading into dangerous territory unarmed. </p><p>“Sure, sure. You know you can’t carry three wardrobes and a feather bed with you, right?” he taunts, going back to grinding his potions ingredients with precision and vigour. </p><p>He still manages to dodge the shoe that gets lobbed at his head.</p><p>And honestly, he thinks that’s the end of it. There’s no way the fucker was serious, and even if he was he’s probably already realised what a shit idea it is. That’s why, when Lambert goes to saddle his horse and head out the next morning, he’s totally thrown off by the fact that the troubadour is standing there with a full pack and a horse of his own, just… waiting. </p><p>Lambert blinks a few times, like there’s something in his eye, and once he gets rid of it this strange scene will be gone. Of course, that doesn’t work, so his next order of business is to ask, “The fuck are you doing?”</p><p>“Waiting for you,” Marx says, casual as fuck, like this is totally normal. “You’re welcome, by the way. Now, come on, hurry up. We should have left hours ago.” </p><p>The reasonable answer, of course, would be to argue — or, better yet, to just tell him, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off. He doesn’t need a travelling companion, and he absolutely doesn’t need to babysit the fussiest prick he’s ever met. He has better things to do, thanks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No you don't, Lambert. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to us</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So, they’ve been travelling together, on and off, for a few years now. And it’s not… it’s not as bad as he thought it would be. Valdo is… capable. For a human. He doesn’t rely on Lambert for everything — for anything, really — and he isn’t as annoying as Lambert thought he would be. </p><p>The thing is, he really expected Valdo to be up his arse all the time, or too loud, or distracting, or just… a nuisance in general. It turns out that he was pretty much entirely wrong.</p><p>Yeah, Valdo can be a fucking nuisance, but only when he’s trying to be, and in ways that are generally unobtrusive. Things go the same way now that they did before, when they’d lounge around some inn room or tavern and just do their own shit. Most of the time, Valdo’s just a <i>presence</i>. It gets to the point where having him around is an honest-to-Gods <i>comfort</i> and… Lambert doesn’t really like that, as a concept, so he ignores it entirely. It’s easier than analysing it, that’s for fucking sure.</p><p>Still, the point is that it’s just the same shit on a wider scale. They share the road together, they make camp together, but they do their own shit. Lambert works on his contracts, Valdo does his performances in his courts, and they reconvene when it’s time to go somewhere else and do it all again. </p><p>Sometimes Valdo will mutter to himself when he’s in the middle of composing something, and Lambert will deliberately give the wrong answer to a question that wasn’t even for him because he knows that the troubadour needs to take a fucking break and the only way to really distract him is to get him arguing. </p><p>And sometimes it goes the other way around. Sometimes Lambert will come back from a hunt, limping and cursing, holding only half of what he was promised; and Valdo sneers, waxes fucking poetic about how stupid people are and how that’s why he only deals with them when strictly necessary and, actually, isn’t that a good idea? Maybe Lambert could take some of his classes this year, become the world’s finest witcher-bard. Valdo starts fancifully describing what he imagines Lambert’s life would be like, and halfway through Lambert is laughing, his attention caught much more easily by Valdo than by the things that had upset him in the first place.</p><p>The way they work together is unprecedented, honestly. And, obviously, he doesn’t mean <i>work</i> in the sense that they labour together. He cannot over-stress that he <i>isn’t Geralt</i>, and doesn’t need a musician by his side while he’s doing witchers’ work. No, what he means is that their relationship, whatever the fuck that <i>is</i> right now, is almost alarmingly functional. </p><p>There’s something off about it, the more thought he puts into it. Even Aiden, his <i>best friend</i> and fellow witcher, doesn’t stick around with him this long. They’d both lose their minds if he did. It’s bordering on unnatural, the way that Valdo is just entirely unobtrusive when Lambert needs him to be, the way he only ever seems to take up the right amount of Lambert’s attention. </p><p>It’s not that he doesn’t like it. It’s that he doesn’t trust it.</p><p>Nothing ever works this well for him. Nothing lasts this long. No friendship, companionship, <i>anything</i> that he’s ever had has lasted like this without some sort of legitimate alone time. </p><p>And it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy spending time with Valdo. They banter easily, like it’s scripted, each matching the other blow for blow, always toeing the line but never crossing it. Well, not <i>never</i>. Yes, they’ve fought — they both take shit too seriously, Valdo’s ego is both enormous and easily bruised, Lambert is always on the offensive, and it’s easy for him to get taken in, in the heat of the moment. He’s been described, once or twice, as <i>passionate</i>, but that sounds way too fanciful for him. If you ask Lambert, he’s just kind of a prick, and that’s fine by him. </p><p>The thing is, again, it works too well. </p><p>It just doesn’t feel <i>right</i>. Or maybe it feels <i>too</i> right. He’s comfortable, and it’s a short leap from <i>comfort</i> to <i>complacency</i>. And maybe Lambert’s just naturally suspicious of everyone and everything. It’s not like he doesn’t have a reason to be, when everyone he’s gotten close to has hurt him in the end. </p><p>It started with his mother, because of fucking course it did. She loved and defended him, even when she couldn’t understand him, even when it was his actions that caused his father to— well. She always said that it wasn’t <i>his fault</i>, that any man who’d treat his own wife and child like that is no man at all, that it was more her fault than his because he didn’t choose to be born but in a selfish way she was glad he was born to her because she loved him so, so much.</p><p>And it wasn’t her fault that his piece of shit father sold him to a fucking witcher for his own personal safety, but a part of him latched on to her words in a way she didn’t intend him to. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born, but that’s really where it all started, isn’t it?</p><p>Then, all of his friends — his brothers — every other boy he’d grown up with (not counting the older boys, of course, or even the younger ones, but <i>his</i> group). He’d gotten close to them, grown up with them, shared nearly <i>all</i> of his firsts with them in any sense of the word — first fight, first kiss, first… love? Maybe. </p><p>It doesn’t matter, because they’re all dead.</p><p>His mother’s dead now, too. Sometimes he thinks about it. Sometimes he wonders if they’d had more kids, if she’d found a replacement for him, if she’d forgotten. He almost wouldn’t blame her. She really didn’t have a choice. Maybe he had a brother, long ago, that was supposed to be a brother. Maybe he had a sister who didn’t make Da mad by insisting she was a boy. Maybe he has nieces and nephews. He doesn’t know, and it wouldn’t do any good for him or his hypothetical family to look into it now. The scrawny little boy who lived as a punching bag for his father and something distracting for his mother to love is gone now, has been for ages. Lambert has a family, and he sees them most winters, and it’s more than enough.</p><p>Because the other Wolves <i>are</i> his family. Geralt and Eskel might be older than him, might have a bond with each other that they don’t share with him, but them’s the breaks when it comes to being the youngest brother. He doesn’t blame them, and he isn’t offended. They went through their Trials together and if anything, the only thing he resents is that he doesn’t have the same. It’s not fun, being the youngest, if only because it highlights how many didn’t survive. </p><p>That brings him back to the original, uncomfortable point, though: he can’t even spend this much time with his <i>family</i>. And it’s not like Valdo’s always up his ass — he’s not — but the fact that they’ve shared as many campfires as they have, that he’s familiar with Valdo’s <i>creative process</i>, that he’s this <i>comfortable</i>, it’s fucking <i>wrong</i>. </p><p>There’s something <i>off</i> about Valdo Marx, and Lambert is determined to figure out just what it is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was meant to be a lot shorter than it's going to be, but if there wasn't an unnecessary amount of suspicion and angst, it just wouldn't be Lambert</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are a lot of ways in which Lambert can use his personality to his advantage. Mostly, he uses it to drive people away. It's very effective, he finds, to tell people exactly what he thinks of them immediately. There's no way to set an unreasonable expectation if he comes exactly as advertised, so to speak. </p><p>The thing is, he doesn't want to drive Valdo away this time — or, at least, not yet. He might decide differently later. That's why he's glad he has <i>many</i> uses for this specific thing. Because, see, sometimes he plays it straight, a complete asshole who won't waste his time on anyone, who shouldn't have anyone's time wasted on him; but he <i>also</i> uses it the other way around.</p><p>He's loud, for a witcher. Outspoken would be a better word but people think that because he's outspoken he's incapable of any subtlety. That's why he finds it so easy to gather information when he needs to. No one expects him to be listening in, no one expects him to be able to sneak or hide or use any type of subterfuge. They don't expect him to be <i>observant</i> because they expect him to be entirely self-focused, which makes no fucking sense for a witcher but works in his favour anyway. </p><p>If Lambert didn't know how to be subtle and quiet when it counts, he wouldn't have lived this long. Simple as.</p><p>It's a little more difficult to keep an eye on Valdo, when the musician knows the real Lambert. He knows what Lambert is like, and the witcher finds that it adds a level of difficulty to his attempts at subtle surveillance. Still, he watches Valdo as best as he can, because he's sure there's something there, something suspicious.</p><p>Again, though, he has to stress that it is harder than he thought it would be. To Valdo's credit, he knows Lambert better than anyone else who isn't a witcher. Shit, he probably knows parts of Lambert that his brothers don't. He's even seen him naked, which... Lambert isn't a prude, far from it, and he's certainly not embarrassed or ashamed of his body or whatever weak shit others in his position might feel. He's a man with a cunt. Some people might think that's strange or fucked up or whatever, but Lambert's never really given a shit about what others think of him.</p><p>The problem is that he's sort of superstitious about it. He knows it doesn't make sense, rationally, but there's a part of him that can't help but think that everyone who knew this about him is <i>dead</i>. Correlation doesn't equal causation, his cunt didn't kill anyone, but it's still... uncomfortable. It's something he keeps to himself. He's willing to bet that between Geralt and Eskel, at least one (if not both) of them think he has a cock and balls, because unlike <i>them</i> he doesn't <i>flaunt it</i>.</p><p>(They don't actually flaunt it. They grew up together. Lambert just doesn't have anyone from his class to share that same connection with, like they do, and he resents it a little. A moderate amount, perhaps.) </p><p>But he's never tried to outright hide it. If he wants to fuck someone, he will, and beyond that no one really needs to know. Even Aiden, they travel together on and off but they aren't up each other's arses the whole time. Maybe Aiden is aware of Lambert's... more peculiar anatomy. Maybe he isn't. They don't talk about it, and Lambert's grateful for that either way.</p><p>Having Valdo around has been weird. Consistently different from any other companionship he's experienced, which isn't saying much, to be fair, as there aren't a lot of other companionships to compare it to. Still, it says enough. He's out of his element, not in his comfort zone. He's doing his best and his best is shit. He still remembers one of his old instructors telling him <i>losers do their best, winners go home and fuck the village beauty.</i> Lambert's always taken that to heart. Trying your best is a fucking copout, barely more than an excuse for the kind of mistakes that get witchers killed. </p><p>Anyway, not the point. The point is that he had to get used to having someone stick around in the way that Valdo does, because no one ever had before. There was shit to get used to and one of those things was that for being all high-society, the man has no fucking sense of shame or privacy when he's not in his fancy fucking courts and shit. He just takes his clothes off with Lambert <i>right there</i>, doesn't really check before he walks into the room or clearing or whatever where Lambert is undressing. At first he fucking <i>hated</i> it. After all, his privacy is the only thing about being alone on the Path that's ever <i>not</i> had some downside. And he knows how humans can be — they'll judge anything that isn't like them, even if it's fucking <i>nothing</i>. </p><p>And he should have realised that Valdo wouldn't give a shit.</p><p>Valdo took one look at him — a look that part of him would call <i>appraising</i>, only for that assessment to be immediately dismissed as <i>dangerous</i> — and then just... that was it. Nothing else.</p><p>Lambert had waited, and still the troubadour said nothing. So finally, once he at least had his trousers on, Lambert turned and snapped, "You gonna say something, or what?"</p><p>Raising one eyebrow and looking very unimpressed and unintimidated, Valdo had answered, "Something, or what."</p><p>Because he is fucking insufferable, but also because he <i>isn't</i>, not in the way that humans usually are. And that makes Lambert feel... a lot of things. All of them good, probably, which he hates, because he—</p><p>It's not that he doesn't think he deserves it, or anything. It's just that he doesn't feel like it's <i>allowed</i>, in a cosmic sense. Lambert doesn't <i>get</i> good things. He doesn't get to have shit like companionship and acceptance and understanding. That got taken from him long ago. </p><p>At least, he had thought so. Now, he's not so sure. Valdo had sighed and said, "Look, what's in your trousers is your business. If it weren't, I still wouldn't <i>care</i>. It doesn't define you." And it's something that Lambert already knew, but to hear someone else say it to him, <i>about</i> him, it's— it means a lot, honestly, even though he knows it shouldn't and doesn't entirely understand why it does. Something about that easy acceptance, how something that's no big deal to Lambert isn't being <i>made into</i> a big deal by someone else, that he can just be who and what he is and that can be all there is to it... it's weird, but it's a <i>good</i> weird. </p><p>Even still, he'd tried to argue, because that's who he is. That's what he does. Maybe Valdo can just take things at face value and let shit go unsaid but Lambert can't fucking <i>do that</i>. Of course, most of him expected Valdo to get pissed off, get annoyed with him, maybe berate him for needing reassurance on something so stupid. He had been prepared for it, a hundred retorts to a hundred insults sitting on the tip of his tongue, and he hadn't <i>needed</i> them anyway. </p><p>"Everyone has their secrets," Valdo had said with a shrug. "You don't know everything about me. I don't know everything about you. I fear life would be frightfully dull if we had all the answers at our fingertips. I'm not going to judge you, so stop working yourself up over it."</p><p>And <i>then</i> he had said "Oh, nice arse, by the way," which was the one fucking thing Lambert didn't prepare a reply for because how the <i>fuck</i> was he supposed to expect <i>that</i> to be the fucker's takeaway from all this? </p><p>He'd gained a lot of respect for the troubadour that day. Valdo had always seemed like the kind of person who cares <i>too much</i> about what others think, who would judge someone severely for using the wrong spoon or something. Turns out, "I place very little, if any value on things that one cannot control. Manners can be learnt, and implementing them from that point onwards is a choice. Being rude is a choice. Your anatomy is not." </p><p>And that was that. He never brought it up again. It really seems like he meant what he said, and Lambert appreciates that. Respects it. Still, he watches Valdo, because he's sure that something isn't right, that he's missing something. And once he's really, honestly paying attention, it doesn't take him long to figure out what that is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the quote from Lambert's instructor is based on a thing my boss used to say to me <i>constantly</i>: "Losers do their best, winners go home and fuck the prom queen." Apparently it's from a movie that Sean Connery and Nicolas Cage were in together, which sounds fucking incredible based on that alone</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Quick switch to Valdo's POV</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lambert has been acting weird lately, which says a lot considering just how fucking strange the man is in general. Honestly, Valdo has met many different people, but never has he met someone quite like Lambert. </p><p>Well, maybe he has. The thing is, he can't remember, which is proof that he hasn't. If they were like Lambert, after all, then he would have endeavoured to spend more time with them. </p><p>The thing is, Valdo knows that he's not the easiest to get along with. It's something he tries to present himself as. He doesn't like letting people get too close to him, usually. It's never gone well for him, simply put. It's too easy to get hurt if one allows others to get too close, and he's been hurt enough in his time, thank you.</p><p>Lambert is... prickly. He's a little bit of a bastard, and takes things far too personally far too often. He lashes out without even meaning to, and at the smallest things. He's rude, crude, and unapologetically himself. Valdo, damn him, can't help but admire him a bit for it. </p><p>Now, please don't misunderstand: he doesn't put up with Lambert's bullshit. If the witcher has a bad day, and he tries to take it out on Valdo, he will be quickly disavowed of the notion. Simply put, Valdo does not put up with mistreatment. Lambert never takes it personally; if anything, he seems to respect Valdo in turn, for putting him in his place. He's even given something suspiciously close to an <i>apology</i> once or twice, for his poor behaviour. </p><p>Make no mistake, Valdo knows that the world is cruel. He knows that witchers, especially, have a difficult time amongst humans. He suspects that, were he also unable to hide his true nature, they'd treat him just as badly, if not worse. He has always been thankful that he can hide what he is.</p><p>Part of the reason he prefers to perform in courts is that he wants to prove that he can go far in human society. He wants to prove, to himself if to no one else, that there is still something human in him. Whatever his life had been before, he can't quite remember, and he hates that. He wants to know if the person he was matches the person he is. He wants to know what he's lost, and what he's gained. He wants to <i>know</i>, and he <i>can't</i>, and it eats him alive, some days. </p><p>Another reason, of course, is the stability. He always knows that his next meal will be good and he will have no trouble paying for it. He knows where he will be sleeping in a month's time, whose court he will visit, what he will wear, what he will sing. There's something comforting in the routine, in the knowing. Perhaps he's compensating for the knowledge he desperately seeks but tragically lacks, or perhaps he's simply the kind of person that craves control. Perhaps it's any number of other things. If he spends all his time analysing his own preferences, he'll have no time for anything else.</p><p>Lambert helps to get him out of his head. He hadn't realised how much he'd cocooned himself in his routine, how much he'd stagnated. Of course, there'd been a part of him that knew he must have been. That said, it's one thing to be aware of something conceptually, and another thing entirely to be faced with the reality of it. Lambert had come into his life, shaken his world like a snow globe, and walked out just as easily.</p><p>He'd thought.</p><p>Then he saw Lambert at the next court he'd been called to, and the next, and the next. They kept running into one another, and he's not entirely confident saying that it is or is not coincidence. It could be, as unlikely as it seems (statistically speaking, at least), if only because following him doesn't seem like the kind of thing Lambert would <i>do</i>. He couldn't figure out why someone as... as <i>solitary</i> as Lambert would come after him. </p><p>Then again, they are close, closer than he's ever been with another. He has no siblings, he doesn't get along with his cousins, and he is cordial, but distant, with his sire. If he's being honest, he had been deliberately unkind to his family, in the beginning, because of how deeply he'd resented what he'd become. </p><p>Could he be blamed, truly? It’s not as though he was given the option. Perhaps he would have become a vampire, were he given the choice, or perhaps he would simply have opted to die. He can’t say, truly, because <i>nobody asked him</i>. </p><p>He’d deliberately driven away anyone and everyone who tried to get close to him, after he’d been turned. He’d done everything he could to make them hate him as much as he hated what he’d become. He stole one of Julian’s songs, he talked down to Essi, he ignored Priscilla. The latter two saw right through him — of course they did. Essi is often frighteningly perceptive and intuitive, and Priscilla is deeply empathic, as well as being perceptive in her own right. If Julian had ever caught on remains to be seen; he’s always been the most temperamental, the most emotional, the easiest to rile up. He’d declared them rivals, and it’s been that way ever since.</p><p>Perhaps he’d truly crossed a line, made a mistake from which there is no turning back. After all, Julian’s music is deeply personal, a reflection of who he is and what he feels. Valdo had known, of course, that stealing it would be, simply and frankly put, a complete dick move. That’s the whole reason he’d done it. That said, Julian <i>is</i> the most emotional, and while that often means he’s wrapped up in his own feelings far too easily, it also means that he sees in others what no one else — sometimes even the person in question — can or will. There’s a possibility that Julian saw that he needed a focus for his… everything. His hurt, his animosity, his hatred, his anger, all needed an outlet, and (whether intentionally or not) Julian had given him a focus for it. </p><p>He no longer feels that same raw, blind animosity. If anything, there’s a grudging sort of respect there, now, where the hatred used to be. They are, at least to Valdo, less <i>enemies</i> and, finally, more of proper rivals. </p><p>Still, he has never let even Julian get close to him like this (though whether the man himself would accept such an offer, should Valdo ever make it, is a different matter entirely). He has shown this much of himself to no one; not to Essi, Priscilla, Aunt Luella, Uncle Regis, even to his own sire. Not to lovers, brief and fleeting as his trysts tend to be. </p><p>Just Lambert.</p><p>Lambert, in turn, has shown much of himself to Valdo. He isn’t daft, he knows that neither of them is particularly used to this sort of easy companionship. If anything, that just makes it all the more meaningful to him. They have their ups and their downs, but they <i>try</i>. They’re both trying their best, and it’s more than Valdo had ever allowed himself to hope for.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a lot about Lambert that is, frankly, novel to Valdo. </p><p>Every vampire has an ability, et cetera, et cetera. He's heard it only about a thousand and one blessed times from one relative or another, by this point. His ability, simply put, is garnering or brushing off attention. Unlike his cousins, his ability, or power, or whatever you'd like to call it, is something he's worked on a lot over his... second life, he supposes it would be considered. They had been different from him since the beginning. Where their new lives were a blessing, his was... not quite a mistake, but certainly not something he was happy about or proud of. </p><p>If he's being honest, Valdo had been a bit of a problem child for his sire. He'd been so... well, so angry about his lost humanity, he'd sort of gone completely in the other direction. His logic had been that, if he was no longer human, he may as well lean into the monster he'd become. Why should he think about whether something is right or wrong? What is morality defined by, if not humans' self-interests? If he were human, using his power might be unconscionable, or at the very least somewhat morally ambiguous. Now that he is <i>other</i>, he'd thought, what's it matter? </p><p>So he practised. He put as much time and effort as he could into honing his innate ability to keep all eyes either on or off of him. All things considered, it could have been worse. If he'd had Julian's ability to hypnotise people, or Priscilla's ability to see one's most important memories, then perhaps he might have had more qualms about it. That said, his ability really only affected <i>him</i>, and how (and sometimes whether) he would be perceived by others. By that metric, what was the harm in using it as much as he could?</p><p>To be fair, he stopped thinking that way. At some point he had the thought that, while he couldn't change what he'd been changed into, while he had no control over whether he was physically <i>human</i>, he'd still had control over his own actions. Perhaps, some part of him had thought, the <i>real</i> monsters are those who <i>act</i> monstrous. After all, no one chooses <i>what</i> they are, but <i>who</i> they are? One can be self-made, <i>re</i>made, with enough discipline. </p><p>Valdo prides himself on his discipline.</p><p>He rarely indulges in his thirst. When he does, it's easy enough for no one to notice, and it's not as though he doesn't leave some sort of compensation. He's aware that there's still a lack of consent, but it's not as though he's likely to find someone who will not only accept him for what he is, but will be willing to feed him. No, unfortunately, one such as him rarely has the luxury of getting informed consent from those who feed him. </p><p>Perhaps it's a consolation prize, then, when he leaves coin or jewelry or some other prize or trinket in the place of the blood he's taken. He makes it seem like something that's randomly found, rather than deliberately left; a miracle, perhaps, but not a gift. It's better that way. No one deserves the memory of being another creature's meal. At least he's leaving some kind of recompense; most vampires just take, like humans are cattle for them to enjoy at their leisure. </p><p>Those who are born do not have to feed. Those who are made must, but rarely, compared to their lesser cousins. The katakan, the garkain, the bruxa, the alp, the fleder; they are more prolific than the higher vampire, and that is due in large part to the fact that they can control themselves far less than those above them. It's something of an evolutionary chain, he supposes. Either way, lesser vampires can be particularly ravenous. Those such as Valdo only have to take a few mouthfuls a month, and if he spreads it out over time, no one really gets hurt. </p><p>To be fair, it's difficult to meet his needs when his travelling companion is a very perceptive witcher. </p><p>It's... complicated. Valdo has used his ability on Lambert before, and he'll admit that. The thing is, he'll admit it because he honestly doesn't think he'd done wrong in doing so. </p><p>He's never used it to trick or mislead the witcher. He's only used it to help him. Sometimes, Lambert is just too stuck in his own head, and Valdo gets that. Gods, he knows that feeling a bit too well, if he's being honest. If Valdo can get the witcher's attention on <i>him</i> instead of whatever's gotten him upset, then it's a distraction. It's a good thing. It helps, if only a little bit. He doesn't use it beyond that, by the way; he just gets Lambert's attention to start with, and then <i>keeps</i> that attention on his own merit. Whether it be through jokes, or some unrelated anecdote, or any number of distractions, Valdo keeps Lambert's attention on him and off of his problems and it <i>helps</i>.</p><p>He uses his ability for good. He uses it to help someone he cares about.</p><p>Gods damn it, but he does care about Lambert, perhaps a bit too much. He knows that it's a risk, to put it mildly. Furthermore, he knows that it's not ideal, that he's going to get hurt, but he can't deny that he has... amorous feelings for the prickly witcher. </p><p>It's something close to irritating, how easily Lambert was able to burrow into Valdo's heart. Perhaps worse, he knows that this feeling isn't mutual. </p><p>Well, not exactly. Rather, he knows that if it <i>is</i> mutual, Lambert probably has no idea. The man is so good at ignoring his own feelings, he could teach a full course on the subject in Oxenfurt. He's the fucking pinnacle of repression. </p><p>It's not as though Valdo doesn't <i>get it</i>. He knows how important control can be, and how fucking <i>terrible</i> it is to lose that feeling when one needs it most. He knows that ignorance is preferable to helplessness. Gods, he <i>knows</i>. He's a fair bit older than the witcher, if he's being honest; he's been there before, he gets it. </p><p>That doesn't make it any less inconvenient, or painful, or just plain <i>unfortunate</i>. Valdo, despite his profession, is not the best when it comes to feelings. He can identify them, sure, but <i>dealing</i> with them is another thing entirely. It's frightfully easy to get lost in his own head. The hard part is surfacing again afterwards.</p><p>He loves Lambert so much it aches. It's just that he... he needs to really acknowledge that it's not going to end well for him. That's a lot easier said than done. </p><p>Look, it isn't his fault. There's something about a man who's been, if he may be so blunt, absolutely shafted over and over by Life and Destiny and all that other horse shit, and doesn't let it really stop him. He's not saying that Lambert doesn't have his issues. Gods above, no, that's the last thing he'd ever assert. The thing is, though, Lambert <i>keeps going</i>. Even when the world keeps shitting on him, he doesn't stop, doesn't quit. Maybe he lives and thrives out of spite alone, but that doesn't make it any less admirable.</p><p>There are times when Valdo sees something in Lambert that makes his heart ache, and it's been happening more and more as they've grown closer. It's like there's a façade the witcher has been putting up, and over time, Valdo has— well, not necessarily worn it down, but been allowed past it. </p><p>Of course, there are things that Valdo hadn't been <i>allowed</i> to be privy to, so much as he <i>happened upon</i> them. The first time he saw Lambert nude, for example; the witcher had been so tightly-wound that Valdo had been half afraid that he'd snap in two. </p><p>To be fair, Valdo knows he should have checked that his companion was decent. It's just that, well, he hadn't thought of it. They were two men in the bloody wilderness, for Melitele's sake. He isn't excusing his lack of courtesy, of course, but he still feels the need to explain himself, even <i>to</i> himself, when he thinks about it. Something about the... grit? Of life on the road, he supposes, had disavowed him of his usual notions of courtesy and propriety. </p><p>He understands, of course. A man must have some secrets, and there are things that are just uncomfortable to talk about. Truly, there’s no <i>reason</i> for them to talk about it. They’re not sleeping together, nor is he Lambert’s physician. He had honestly felt as though it didn’t need to be commented on, any more than it would if he possessed the anatomy that one might expect. </p><p>Lambert, clearly, felt differently, if his outburst was anything to go by. Valdo isn’t the type of person that others tend to go to for reassurance of any sort, so he’d been woefully out of his depth, but he’d finally decided that sometimes, honesty is the best policy. Telling Lambert that he didn’t care, in no uncertain terms, because it was neither his business, nor the witcher’s choice, was (thankfully) the right decision.</p><p>Of course, since Lambert had already brought it up, he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to comment on the witcher’s arse. Firstly, because he likes to watch him squirm. Witchers cannot blush (something to do with their mutagens, though he’s not nearly daft enough to ask) but he’s found that they <i>can</i> still be visibly embarrassed in other ways. Making Lambert grimace, or squirm, or twitch, or cringe, is a fucking art form, and Valdo considers himself a master in it. It’s also, however, that he means it. </p><p>What? He has <i>eyes</i>. Lambert is… very fit. He has to be, for his profession, though he’s not as bulky as Valdo might have expected him to be. He’s rather more lithe, but there’s still no missing the powerful muscles, the way they ripple under his scarred skin. It isn’t just his musculature that’s attractive, though. His red hair (which he usually keeps short but somehow, more often than not, it ends up tangled with leaves and dirt) is rather fetching when he actually combs it. It’s naturally sleek in a way that noble ladies try to achieve with a plethora of expensive oils. His beard, he keeps even shorter, and is significantly more untamed than the hair on his head. His yellow eyes, too, are gorgeous; not because of their unique colour or pupils, but because of how expressive they are. They say that the eyes are a window to the soul, but he’s never met someone who embodies that adage quite as much as Lambert. Perhaps it’s that humans rarely look him in the eye, but looking into his eyes is like looking into the cracks of a porcelain mask. There’s so much there, just below the surface. </p><p>There’s a lot to love about Lambert. That’s the unfortunate truth of the matter, isn’t it? That there is so much about him that Valdo can’t keep himself from loving, and yet… and yet, there’s no chance Lambert will ever allow himself to be loved. Thus, his feelings, like his nature, are simply another part of himself that he must hide away. He’s used to hiding. He just wishes… sometimes, he just wishes that he didn’t always have to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for not uploading yesterday, and then uploading so late today. I had to take a mental health day, then couldn't find a good place to end this chapter. Also I would just like to state that I will <i>never</i> use game Lambert's physical appearance for the Lambert I write, because he looks so much like my uncles, and it freaks me the fuck out. Thank you, Netflix, for allowing me to not have to deal with that lmao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It turns out that when everything comes to a head, it’s a complete accident. That makes sense, of course — neither of them have the best track record when it comes to luck. Perhaps, if it had gone differently… Well. </p><p>They say that things are always clearer in hindsight. Looking back, if Valdo could go about things differently, he absolutely would. He would have confessed to Lambert on his own, rather than being found out the way he had.</p><p>It happens like this: Valdo rarely indulges in his thirst, and certainly never more than he absolutely has to. Lately, though, he’s been doing so even less than normal, less than the bare minimum. He knows it’s not ideal, but that doesn’t change anything. It’s never been easy for him to accept what he is, to partake in the blood of others. </p><p>He knows it’s ridiculous. Unlike the more barbaric feeding practises of lesser vampires, his kind can bring immense pleasure. While his ancestors were, many of them, deliberately cruel, viewing humans as nothing more than mere cattle on which to feast at their leisure, their kind have come a long way when it comes to wanton cruelty. They coexist with humanity, and have culturally adapted a mindset that suits that adapted style of living.</p><p>Simply put, his bite can bring pleasure. Long ago, far before his time, his kind would use that to their advantage, would use it to kill. They would toy with their prey, for that’s what humans were to them. Often, they would simply rend the flesh with their claws, avoiding the pleasurable aspect altogether. Some insisted that the flavour of the blood was enhanced by the fear and pain. Many more insisted the opposite, that the quality of their meals would increase with a bit of kindness. </p><p>The thought that his ancestors stopped torturing people for food just because they might get a more tender meal if they were nice… it’s sickening to him. </p><p>He’s lived nearly two centuries (perhaps more, perhaps less; he doesn’t tend to keep count) and has never gotten used to the idea of using <i>people</i> for <i>sustenance</i>.</p><p>Valdo knows he has to. He’s certainly more comfortable with it than he was a hundred years ago, and he was even worse a hundred years before that. From a detached standpoint, he can understand that it’s necessary, and if he is just the slightest bit careful, he will give more than he will take. It is, he’s been told, an otherworldly experience for the other party, if done correctly. That said, he would rather skip the <i>otherworldly experiences</i> altogether, thank you very much. He waits as long as he can, takes the absolute bare minimum, leaves some form of financial compensation, and does it all again when needs must.</p><p>Lately, he’s been going a lot longer than he knows he should. It’s just that, well, his companion is a <i>witcher</i>. When would he have the <i>time</i> to indulge? How could he find an opportunity?</p><p>Easily, actually. To be fair, he and Lambert spend all their time together <i>between</i> their destinations, then part for a time to each ply their own trades before meeting up again to do it all somewhere else. While Valdo is in any court, he could find many opportunities to sate his thirst. He is using Lambert as an excuse, and he knows it, but he’ll hardly admit it. </p><p>(If he could go back, he would have fed himself ages ago. He would have come clean, told Lambert what he is and what he needs and what he can do. The witcher would have respected the honesty, he knows. He’d been afraid of… of what? Lambert feeling betrayed, lied to? Well, keeping secrets, it turns out, is of no help to him in that regard.)</p><p>He gets sloppy. There’s no other explanation, no excuse. His form is more difficult to control, the more he hungers. When he puts in conscious effort, he can maintain his human appearance. When he’s asleep, though, it’s another thing entirely.</p><p>Valdo wakes one night — the sun hasn’t risen, yet, but dawn isn’t far off — to the feeling of cold silver pressed against his throat, the sight of a furious Lambert. His heart sinks— no, that’s not right; <i>sinking</i> implies a slow, gradual descent. His heart, in contrast, <i>drops</i> into his stomach and leaps into his throat all at once. He doesn’t know what he must look like, but he’s got a pretty good guess.</p><p>“I can explain,” he says, somewhat weakly. Lambert’s scowl grows deeper in response. </p><p>“What the fuck are you?” he spits.</p><p>“Vampire,” answers Valdo. “Higher. May I sit up?” </p><p>Realistically, he knows he doesn’t have to ask permission. There’s not much that Lambert could do to him, physically, even with the upper hand like this. Say he skewers Valdo’s throat; while his poor eating habits will surely slow his healing, the troubadour will still heal. He’s weakened, but it’s likely that Lambert doesn’t know that. </p><p>Besides, he’s not going to try to rile the man. Not now. </p><p>The witcher is still scowling at him, but he must realise that Valdo doesn’t mean to harm him. If he did, he would have done it. He could take control of this situation at any time, probably, but he isn’t going to, and it looks like Lambert recognises that. At the very least, he allows Valdo to sit up, though he doesn’t relax in the slightest, himself. </p><p>“How long?” Lambert asks. Valdo hears all the questions unasked, all of the doubts that fit into that one question. How long has he been a vampire? How long has he been hiding this, lying to him? Is he even the same man that Lambert has been calling his friend this whole time? </p><p>Valdo… wants to look away. He doesn’t want to look into the eyes of the man he loves and see the betrayal and animosity and… <i>hatred</i> there. If Lambert doesn’t hate <i>him</i>, Valdo knows he hates being lied to. He hates being deceived. Still, as much as he wants to avert his eyes, he doesn’t. This isn’t about him, not really. His comfort means nothing, when weighed against the pain he’s caused. </p><p>“A very long time,” Valdo answers. His voice is quiet, almost choked. “Certainly longer than our companionship.” </p><p>While that is the truth, it’s clearly not the right answer. He knows — Gods, he <i>knows</i> that he shouldn’t have kept this secret, not like this. </p><p>He knows Lambert very well by now. He knows how easily his witcher — no, <i>the</i> witcher, not his, <i>never</i> his — lashes out when hurt. And, fuck, but Valdo <i>deserves</i> it. Still, there’s a part of him that hopes… that hopes, perhaps, that their friendship can still be salvaged, somehow. That a betrayal like this can be explained, that this rift can be mended with time. </p><p>He knows that he’s fucked up, and perhaps irrevocably. He knows that his dishonesty is what led to this. The most reasonable thing, he decides, is to come clean, to finally tell Lambert all of the things he never could. (Well, not all of them. He knows better than to admit his affections at a time like this, after all.)</p><p>Valdo tells him about his life, what he remembers of his past. He needs Lambert to know that what he is… wasn’t his choice. It shouldn’t define him. He tells Lambert how he feeds; how he makes sure they don’t notice, how he always compensates those who feed him, how unobtrusive he tries to make it all. </p><p>Lambert… does not react well. </p><p>“Can’t believe you were a fucking monster this whole time,” the witcher seethes. </p><p>Valdo can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears, feels a cold and paralysing sort of terror-betrayal shock its way through him, stealing his breath away. He'd thought— he'd thought that Lambert would have <i>understood</i>. "I didn't ask to become this," he croaks. </p><p>Lambert sneers at him, looking less like the man he knows, and every bit the cold, cruel, unfeeling monster that humans love to paint him as. Valdo knows that it’s a mask, an act, but it’s still directed at him and it still hurts so, so much. He’s seen the man under the façade. He knows what Lambert is really like, and that he’s lashing out because he’s hurt. That doesn’t make it hurt <i>Valdo</i> any less. If anything, it’s <i>worse</i>. After all this time, Lambert is hiding from him again. He feels as though a chasm has opened between them, and he simply isn’t strong enough to make the leap back over the other side.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have told you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Lambert, “you really fucking should have.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few quick things: <br/>1. I go back to work tomorrow. This means less time for writing and uploading. While I will still endeavour to upload daily until this is done (and we're getting to the climax, folks!) I may miss some days. Please be patient with me.<br/>2. If you'd like the most reliable updates, follow my twitter @poselikeateam<br/>3. This is the big one. I've been trying to sort of keep it... not to myself, per se, but out of my writing. Still, it's affected my ability to maintain a consistent writing and upload schedule enough that I just feel the need to put it here: Three and a half weeks ago, my grandmother died. It was the worst day of my life. She was 91, and died on her birthday, and it was what she <i>wanted</i>. All her siblings are gone. I <i>get it</i>. Still, it's fucked me up. She was my everything. Please be patient with me. I'm really doing my best trying to navigate life without her<br/>4. This fic is going to get a little worse before it gets better. As with all of my works, <b>happy endings guaranteed.</b> It's just gonna take us a second to get there</p><p>I really appreciate all the kindness and the feedback and the love. I know no one is holding it against me if I miss a day, but it doesn't feel right to just not say something about it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They part ways.</p><p>It’s understandable, really. Lambert doesn’t trust him, and Valdo… Well. He’s hurt. As much as he understands <i>why</i>, it still hurts him. For once, there was a person who he’d allowed to get close, to get to know him, to be his friend. He and Lambert had worn down each other’s walls, seen past one another’s masks. Valdo should have known better. </p><p>This is simply one more thing his vampirism has taken from him. </p><p>Still, life goes on, as it always has, and as it always will. This pain, too, will fade, as all that have come before it. He has to remind himself that it will be alright, that he’ll get used to the loneliness again. </p><p>Valdo takes things a day at a time. He falls back into old routines. He books more performances, keeps a tight schedule, keeps himself busy. All he needs is to be distracted until the wound isn’t quite as fresh.</p><p>The thing is, they <i>were</i> close. They don’t hate one another, even though Valdo almost wishes they did. It would be easier, at least. No, they aren’t enemies, and worse, they don’t avoid one another. </p><p>Both he and Lambert are stubborn bastards. Neither is going to change his own life overmuch on account of the other. They take different paths, now, but they still end up at the same destinations. It’s not nearly as frequent as when they were travelling together, but they still run into one another. They are distant, though cordial. Where before there was easy banter, now there is only a brisk nod of acknowledgment, and nothing more. </p><p>He throws himself into his work. The only way to overcome this is by keeping occupied, industrious. Valdo writes song after song about heartbreak, though he knows he will play them for no one. He burns each one once he’s finished, as though he can banish his sadness like a wayward spirit. It helps, a little, though not as much as he’d like.</p><p>It lasts for months, and those months crawl at such a glacial pace that Valdo feels like centuries have passed. Bitterly, he reminds himself that this, <i>this</i> is why he stays detached. He should have known better, and this is simply how he’s to learn.</p><p>Lambert doesn’t take jobs from the nobility anymore. If they end up in the same town (and they often do), Lambert sticks to the common folk, solves their monster problems, steers clear of the castles and manors that Valdo occupies. </p><p>Valdo is no fool. He knows that it would be a terrible idea to use his ability to keep tabs on Lambert. It is invasive and rude, at best. He wouldn’t infringe on the other’s privacy like that, even though there’s a part of him that wants to. Valdo Marx is many things, but a stalker is simply not one of them. </p><p>That said, it’s not the only resource at his disposal. Again, he isn’t keeping tabs on Lambert. Even if it weren’t an invasion of privacy, it would be damn near impossible for him to get over this if he were constantly checking up on the person he’s trying to more or less forget about. (At the very least, he wants to become less attached. Ideally, he’d like to just fall out of love. Realistically, he isn’t sure if he can do either. It won’t stop him from trying, though.) </p><p>The fact of the matter is that he is a troubadour. Getting information is half his job, for one reason or another. Oftentimes, his profession is no more than a step above espionage. Whether he needs to learn something for his songs, to chronicle history, because someone’s paid him for information on a rival, or simply for curiosity’s sake, Valdo has significant connections and advantages that he knows how to use to their fullest potential and for a wide range of reasons. </p><p>He doesn’t ask much, really. He <i>does</i> respect Lambert’s privacy, as well as the distance that’s been placed between them. All he ever asks is if the witcher has taken on any work, what he is up against, and to be informed when he returns. Yes, he knows it’s more than he should, that he should do everything he can to keep Lambert off of his mind, but that’s part of the problem. He can’t get Lambert out of his thoughts anyway, so why not make sure he’s safe? It gives himself some peace of mind, and right now, it’s something he desperately needs in any capacity.</p><p>It works, more or less, this new routine of his. He can’t say he likes it, but he’ll get used to it. He always does. For a few months, things stay like this, and Valdo almost lets himself hope that things will get easier soon.</p><p>That is until, one day, it all changes. </p><p>Lambert walks into the great hall, scowling. Valdo had worried that this might happen; the Count here — one Count Gritté — is an acquaintance of his sire, so Valdo had already known that he likes to make sure that his people are always safe. The peasantry never pays for the monsters or bandits that plague them to be removed; rather, their taxes pay for it. The taxation is fair, too. Valdo rarely sees this sort of management, but he has always respected it. It’s nice to think that not everyone is entirely selfish. </p><p>At any rate, it means that Lambert would have to come to see the Count himself, or move on entirely. Count Gritté’s holdings are not inconsiderable, so without planning ahead for it, Lambert would have to come by. Without Valdo, Lambert would likely have no way of knowing beforehand.</p><p>Valdo had hoped that Lambert would be able to hold out until he got somewhere else, or perhaps would arrive after Valdo left. Unfortunately, neither had been the case. On the bright side, it means that he doesn’t have to ask around about Lambert’s assignment, because he’s there for the negotiations, and he will be there when Lambert returns.</p><p>He waits, and waits, but Lambert does not come back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’d really been trying to avoid this.</p><p>Apparently, the peasants don’t have any fucking monsters for him in this town, same as the one before it. The local lord takes care of it, apparently. Lambert’s running out of coin, and it’s just his fucking luck that it has to happen in the holdings of the <i>one</i> noble that actually gives a fuck about the people under him. Honestly, most of them don’t give a single fuck about anything but themselves. It’s just his luck to be inconvenienced by fucking <i>magnanimity</i>.</p><p>The thing is, the lord does have contracts for him, but Valdo’s performing for that same lord. Right now. Well, he might not be strumming his lute in this very moment, but obviously what he means is that Valdo is going to be <i>there</i>.</p><p>Lambert does not like being lied to. He doesn’t like when people try to keep shit secret from him. Yeah, maybe it’s due, in large part, to a certain… Eskel would call it <i>trauma</i> but Eskel can <i>fuck off</i>. For them, being lied to, not having all the information about something, can be the difference between a successful hunt and the end of their Path. Nothing good ever comes from keeping secrets.</p><p>That’s part of why he’s so fucked up over this whole Valdo thing, but it’s not the whole problem. No, see, it’s his own fucking <i>emotions</i> that are, frankly, freaking him the fuck out. </p><p>The way he feels about Valdo is complicated and weird. He’s been trying to ignore it until it goes away, but it hasn’t been, and he’s fucking tired of it. He’s pretty sure, at this point, that he’s just fucking stuck like this and he doesn’t know what to do. He ends up deciding that the next best thing is to ignore what he <i>can</i>, which happens to be his discomfort with the whole <i>feelings</i> thing, somehow. So, he thinks about Valdo a lot. Specifically, he thinks about what he feels for him.</p><p>He needs to start over, from the beginning of the end. He’s always been a light sleeper by design. When he was a little kid, he was always vigilant because of his piece of shit dad. At Kaer Morhen, a lot of the other boys had trouble sleeping, and even more trouble with the expectation of being able to wake up at the drop of a hat, but Lambert was fine with it. He’d slept in enough uncomfortable places and positions, and had to wake up to defend himself without warning enough times, and he wasn’t even a fucking mutant yet.</p><p>So, when his medallion began to vibrate against his chest, it woke him right the fuck up.</p><p>He’d been immediately alert, and there was this part of him that worried about keeping Valdo safe. It’s a reasonable worry, he thinks, because he thought Valdo was <i>human</i>, fragile and soft and <i>in danger</i>. He’d never had to protect Valdo from anything because he always stayed out of the way, the polar opposite of the bard that Geralt’s been complaining about for decades. </p><p>Imagine his surprise, then, when he saw what was in Valdo’s bedroll. </p><p>His reaction was, in his opinion, not unreasonable. Something that was mostly Valdo-shaped, but longer and sharper and more <i>monstrous</i>, was lying where Valdo had fallen asleep just hours before. A large part of him knew, of course, that whatever secret Valdo was keeping, it wasn’t going to be easy to swallow. He wasn’t able to reconcile his natural suspicion and desire to know everything with his unnamed feelings for the troubadour, or the man’s importance in his life. </p><p>Lambert knows that Valdo is too important to him. He knows it isn’t fucking reasonable. He can’t stop it anyway. And he <i>hates</i> being lied to, but he gets it, this time. If their roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have come clean. What kind of fucking idiot tells a witcher they’re a monster? </p><p>For a moment, he wonders what kind of idiot monster would travel with a witcher, but his mind very rudely reminds him that he was the one who’d started it. Yeah, Valdo had suggested they travel together on purpose, but Lambert was the one searching him out, at first. And whether that was really entirely for Gwent, like he told himself, or because something about Valdo just drew him in… he can’t say, and at this point he really doesn’t want to dig too deep into it. </p><p>The biggest problem, ironically, <i>is</i> his feelings. They’re fucking complicated and he’s not a fan, to put it mildly. When Valdo came clean, he really went all in. He told Lambert his whole fucking life story, basically, and it was… it was a lot. Too much, maybe.</p><p>He’s had a lot of time, lately, to deconstruct it; and since his mind won’t allow him to bury it deep down, he’s been doing a <i>lot</i> of fucking analysis.</p><p>Part of the issue he’d had was his own issues. His <i>trauma</i>, if you believe that pansy-ass Eskel voice in his head. There was something so uncomfortably close to his own lived experiences in Valdo, in his story and his weird vampire rebirth and his reaction to it even still, in the pain and the self-loathing, that reminded Lambert too much of himself. It struck a nerve, hit too close to home. All of the shit he hates about himself, suddenly, was sitting in front of him in the shape of a monster; and if his training taught him anything, it was that monsters are the enemy. It was convenient to get angry, to blame Valdo. It was cathartic, in a way, if he ignored all the ways it fucking stung.</p><p>When  he mentioned that ability of his, though, that was something that Lambert was downright freaked out about. If Valdo is keeping secrets from him already, how can he be sure there aren’t more? The troubadour could have been doing any number of things behind Lambert’s back, and he just wouldn’t <i>know</i> because he physically fucking couldn’t. </p><p>Realistically, his medallion would tell him. Unfortunately, emotions don’t give a fuck about that sort of thing. So he did what he does best: he lashed out, driving away the one good thing life has allowed him to have. He could make a joke about family resemblance, but he’s really not in the fucking mood.</p><p>After that, he’s just… trying to figure shit out, mostly. All this introspection shit can’t be good for him but hey, if he only did shit that was good for him, he wouldn’t be a fucking witcher.</p><p>Here’s what he comes up with: he has feelings. He does not like them. Because feelings are never fucking easy, there are several conflicting reasons for this. On the one hand, he doesn’t like it because it’s inconvenient and, at times, downright fucking painful. On the other, it feels really nice, sometimes. Valdo makes him feel something alarmingly close to <i>happy</i> sometimes, and he doesn’t know how to deal with something like that. </p><p>Lambert isn’t sure if he can say it, even to himself. He knows there’s a four-letter word that fits the way he feels pretty damn well, but he just doesn’t know if he’s comfortable with the word, with all the connotations it brings. Lambert loved his mother, and that ended up fucking him up. He loved his brothers-in-arms, and they all fucking died. Loving someone means losing them, and the pain afterwards isn’t worth it.</p><p>Then again, he’s already lost Valdo. What’s the harm in admitting it, once or twice?</p><p>He’s never been good at being told <i>no</i>. If someone, even Lambert himself, says that Lambert <i>can’t</i> do something, it just makes him want to prove that he <i>can</i>. He’s a stubborn fuck, and it’s probably going to get him killed one day, but it doesn’t matter. If that doesn’t do him in, something else will, eventually. The thing is, when he tells himself that he <i>can’t</i> say that he’s… that he can’t put a name to what he feels, his immediate response is, <i>Fuck you, me. I’m in love with Valdo Marx.</i> </p><p>It doesn’t get easier, after that, but it doesn’t have to. He’s already admitted it once. It doesn’t need to be repeated.</p><p>He and Valdo don’t travel together anymore, but once again, Lambert is a stubborn fuck. He’s not going to change his route this year just because he might see Valdo. He can plan a new route next year, somewhere far away; maybe he’ll meet up with Aiden again, if he’s lucky. Gods know it’s been a fucking while.</p><p>The point is, they still see each other. Lambert… doesn’t hate him. He wants to, but he doesn’t, and he’s not going to bother to try. The best he can do is just swallow the hurt, same as always, until it gets easier. And yeah, maybe every time he sees Valdo in passing it’s like prodding at an open wound, but it’s not like he hasn’t done that about a thousand fucking times before.</p><p>What makes it tolerable, if not easy, is that he can avoid the nobility. He doesn’t have to see the troubadour if he doesn’t want to. He makes it almost the whole year that way, and for a brief moment, he thinks that maybe something will actually go his fucking way for once. Then, in mid-autumn, he runs into a bit of a snag.</p><p>He’s out of coin, and the common folks don’t have any fucking work for him.</p><p>Of course, it’s exactly his luck, and he scowls and curses up and down, even though he knows that he’s going to have to give in afterwards and make his way up there. Up to where Valdo is. For fuck’s sake, why does nothing ever go Lambert’s way? </p><p>The Count has a job for him, though. At least there’s that. He just has to track down and kill one fucking fiend, and then he can go back to Kaer Morhen, lick his wounds, and start over fresh come spring. With that in mind, he prepares, and sets out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fiend is easy to take care of, mostly. It’s a bitch to track down, which is a bit of a surprise, only overshadowed by how fucking irritating and inconvenient it is. By time he finds the damned thing’s nest, he’s in a foul mood, even for him. The sun has almost risen again, which isn’t even remotely ideal. Of course, since Lambert has chronically terrible luck, he doesn’t get a chance to wait for better conditions, or even to hide and get the drop on it, because the damned fiend sees him immediately. </p><p>It’s not the easiest fight he’s been in, that’s for sure. He manages to swallow a dose of Cat so that it can’t fuck with his head, but with the sunrise this close he knows he needs to finish the battle as quickly as possible before Cat is more of a hindrance than a help. </p><p>Unfortunately for him, the fiend isn’t going to make this easy on him. </p><p>He manages to kill it, but the fight is way too drawn-out, and he’s injured and exhausted. All he can think of doing is going back, getting his coin and a stiff drink, and leaving all this shit behind him. </p><p>Lambert doesn’t get that far. Somehow, there’s a second fiend that no one bothered to fucking mention to him. Maybe they didn’t know about it, maybe they deliberately kept this information from him, but either way, it’s information he would have liked to have. </p><p>The nest only belongs to one fiend. Maybe these two were doing whatever the fiend equivalent of courtship is. It would certainly explain the anguished, rage-filled roar that the monster lets out when it sees the other one lying dead at Lambert’s feet. </p><p>He isn’t ready for a second fight. His Cat is wearing off, but the sun is coming up, so even if he had a chance he couldn’t take more. He’s so <i>fucked</i>.</p><div class="center">
  <p>**</p>
</div>Valdo is able to track Lambert’s scent. One of the perks of being a monster, he supposes. It makes it far easier to find the bastard.<p>Apparently, he has arrived just in time. He sees a huge behemoth of a creature swipe its claws at his friend, and he doesn’t even have a chance to cry out, to warn him, before the blow connects. Lambert flies into a pile of brick that used to be a wall, long ago, with a terrible sound. </p><p>He is aware that witchers are a very sturdy sort. He just needs those potions of his and he’ll be fine, he <i>has</i> to be. The monster, however, is clearly not going to allow him to take them. </p><p>Perhaps it’s a stupid idea. No, strike that, it is <i>absolutely</i> a stupid idea. That doesn’t stop him from running forward. Witchers are sturdy, but his kind are sturdier. </p><p>There’s a sickening feeling of crunching and stretching as he shifts forms. His fangs elongate — all of his teeth do, really — as do his claws. Valdo, admittedly, has no combat experience whatsoever. He is perfectly content to stay entirely out of danger whenever he can. Again, that is not going to stop him. </p><p>All he can think about is Lambert, protecting him, keeping him safe. He can’t watch the witcher die, Gods, he <i>can’t</i>. Valdo has never used the peculiar ability afforded to him by his vampirism on a creature like this, and he isn’t even entirely sure it will work. Even so, he has to <i>try</i>.</p><p><i><b>“Over here, you ugly brute!”</b></i> he screams, his voice resonating, echoing almost unnaturally through the ruined village that has been made into this foul creature’s nest.</p><div class="center">
  <p>**</p>
</div>Valdo is tired. He’s so, so <i>tired</i>.<p>It turns out that, thankfully, he didn’t need any sort of fighting skill. The monster (fiend, he learned afterwards) was as enraged and grief-stricken as he was, and that made it sloppy. His terror, however, helped him; instinct kicked in. For once, he’s glad to be what he is. If not, then Lambert—</p><p>He can’t think about it.</p><p>Valdo can’t remember, entirely, what happened. It was… a blur, a flash of red. He remembers very little, but for once, it doesn’t bother him. This is something he’s more than happy to forget.</p><p>At any rate, he’d been able to take care of the creature, and rushed to Lambert’s side. The witcher wasn’t conscious, and the <i>blood</i>—</p><p>With shaking hands, he’d shaken Lambert awake, thank the Gods. He’d been barely conscious, but that was better than the alternative. It was enough to get one of those Swallow potions down his throat, and while Valdo knew that it wouldn’t be enough, that Lambert would still need proper medical care and rest, it was enough that moving the witcher wouldn’t make things worse.</p><p>As he carried Lambert back to the count’s manor, he made up a story in his head, an explanation, a mix of truth and fiction that could explain enough while saying very little. Lambert had killed one fiend, had been ambushed by a second. Valdo, being an acquaintance of his, had worried when Lambert did not return. He foolishly went to find him, and Lambert had just barely managed to save him from the second creature, at the expense of his own wellbeing. </p><p>Lambert had been hailed as a hero, had immediately been put in his own room with the best healer available, and Valdo hasn’t left his bedside since.</p><p>No amount of assurances that he’ll be alright are enough to make Valdo stop worrying. He almost watched the man he loves <i>die</i>. No matter how many times he washes them, he can still see Lambert’s blood on his hands when he looks down at them.</p><p>Valdo exists in this state of limbo for… three days? A week? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t care. What matters is that he is there when Lambert finally wakes up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing Lambert notices is that he isn’t dead.</p><p>Yeah, maybe that sounds obvious, but it was pretty hit-or-miss, there, for a hot minute. If it hadn’t been for Valdo—</p><p>
  <i>Valdo.</i>
</p><p>Lambert sits up abruptly— or, at least, he <i>tries</i> to. There’s something weighing him down, and his body won’t cooperate with him enough to dislodge it. For a brief moment, something like panic, muted in that way he’s gotten used to since the Trials, wells up in his chest. His eyes fly open, and for just a moment, everything is too bright and blurry to actually see.</p><p>With a frustrated growl, he contracts his pupils. The room is mostly dark, but he’s not in a cell, and he’s not actually strapped down. (Thank fuck for that; he doesn’t really have the fondest memories when it comes to that shit.) </p><p>He takes in his surroundings. The room is extravagant, far too rich for a witcher to convalesce in. The bed is so plush and soft that a part of him thinks that it could just eat him alive, that he could sink into its depths and never resurface, like a vast ocean of linens and feathers.</p><p>Fuck, maybe he spent a little too much of his life with a fucking poet.</p><p>Speaking of, that’s what’s holding him down. Valdo’s arm is like a lead weight over his chest, and for a moment, he allows himself to be irritated that he <i>can</i> be held down by a fucking poet. Then he has to remind himself that there’s a fuck of a lot more to Valdo than that.</p><p>Valdo looks tired. Well, that’s a fucking understatement, actually — he looks downright <i>exhausted</i>, even as he sleeps. He’s lying in the bed with Lambert, which is… a lot of things. Nice, but upsetting, and confusing as fuck. There’s a small part of Lambert that doesn’t want to wake him, because, fuck, he’s looking a lot worse for the wear. He’s gaunt and sallow and looks so troubled, even in his sleep. Has he been taking care of himself at all? How fucking long has Lambert been out?</p><p>In the end, his need for <i>answers</i> outweighs his desire to let Valdo rest. It’s not like the fucker can’t fall back asleep after, and he probably wouldn’t want to be sleeping cuddled up with Lambert anyway, after everything.</p><p>“Hey,” he rasps, then clears his throat and tries again. “Valdo, get the fuck up.”</p><p>The vampire blinks awake, blearily, before seeming to realise exactly where he is. It doesn’t hurt when his eyes widen and he scrambles up off of the bed, fuck off. </p><p>“Lambert,” he breathes. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Gods, that’s… mortifying. I’m terribly sorry. I’ll just—” </p><p>Valdo, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words, makes to leave, and Lambert can’t— he knows that he can get the answers he needs from someone else, but he doesn’t <i>want</i> to. He can’t let Valdo just walk away, not without… Fuck. Not without talking about this. About everything that’s happened between them.</p><p>“Wait,” he says, hauling himself into a sitting position. “Don’t go.”</p><div class="center">
  <p>**</p>
</div>Valdo didn’t mean to fall asleep. Lambert had started shivering horribly, and he’d been fucking terrified. He had no idea what to do, but when he put his hand on the witcher’s shoulder, he seemed to calm down, even lean into the touch. Just a nightmare, then, thank the Gods. (He says <i>just</i>, but he knows how horrible nightmares can be.) At the time, he thought that he would just lie there until Lambert’s nightmare ended. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep. He certainly hadn’t expected to be asked to stay. He wants to say no, make some attempt at self-preservation, but clearly, he has no concept of that anymore.<p>He doesn’t say anything. He merely sits in the chair next to Lambert’s bed and waits. </p><p>"Look," says Lambert after a moment, uncomfortable and guarded and yet still, somehow, so painfully <i>vulnerable</i>, "you know I don't do this... touchy-feely shit. But we gotta talk."</p><p>Valdo sighs. "Yes," he says, "I suppose we should."</p><p>"I didn't— I shouldn't have said that shit," Lambert says. He glares at his hands, clenched into fists around his bedsheets. </p><p>"You were cruel."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Unnecessarily so."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>There's a silence, a yawning chasm between them, and Valdo doesn't know how to cross it. He doesn't know if he <i>should</i>. </p><p>Finally, after what seems like a damned eternity, Lambert speaks again. "I think I was... projecting. Putting all the shit I hate about me onto you, so there was someone else to hate for a while. Valdo, I thought you were <i>human</i>. And I know you couldn't have just told me, but, fuck. It still felt like you'd been lying to me the whole time. And once there's one doubt, there's about a fucking thousand more just behind it, and I—" </p><p>Lambert huffs out a short, frustrated sigh, runs his hands down his face. "Witchers don't <i>do</i> fear," he says. "That's the first thing they tell you. And I sort of don't. I mean, whatever they fucked around with in me, adrenaline doesn't work the same. They took the <i>flight</i> out and just left the <i>fight</i>. I'm not afraid of monsters, or getting hurt, or being overwhelmed, or getting my sorry ass killed. I just <i>can't</i> be. But this— it scared me, alright? I'm not <i>good</i> at this shit, any of it.”</p><p>Valdo sighs. “I understand,” he says. “I understood from the beginning.”</p><p>No, he hadn’t known about witchers, about what’s done to them. He only knows what Lambert tells him, and he knows better than to ask, to pry, to bring back those memories. The <i>feelings</i>, though, he understands perfectly.</p><p>“Maybe,” Lambert says, “but I’m gonna keep telling you anyways.”</p><p>“If you must.”</p><p>“Yeah, I fucking must.” Lambert scowls, and Valdo isn’t sure which of them he’s scowling at. “I don’t get good things, alright? Everyone I trained with is dead. There are <i>four</i> of us left. Maybe it’s for the best; the world doesn’t need more fucking witchers. And if it does, I don’t give a damn. </p><p>“Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though. I can count the number of people I give a fuck about on one hand. I don’t go around trying to make friends. I don’t get to <i>have</i> that shit. You— Fuck. You’re the only one on the list that <i>isn’t</i> a fucking witcher. I’m out of my depth here, alright?”</p><p>Valdo is floored. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think. He always knew that Lambert liked him in some capacity. They were <i>friends</i>, after all. He just never thought he’d hear the man <i>say it</i>. </p><p>And he still has no idea where he’s going with this.</p><p>“What do you want from me?” Valdo asks, <i>pleads</i>. He can’t <i>do</i> this anymore, these games. He’s so tired, he just needs— he needs <i>something</i> he can work with, here.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Then what should we do?” </p><p>Lambert looks at him sharply, like he wasn’t expecting that, like he was expecting Valdo to fight him, or to leave. He knows Lambert, still; he knows that Lambert wasn’t expecting him to offer to stay. If he’s being honest, he’s not sure he expected it of himself, either.</p><p>After one eternal-seeming moment, Lambert says, “I guess we’ll have to figure it out.”</p><p>Valdo, despite himself, feels a small smile start to form on his lips. “I guess we will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that’s it for now! I have the sequel outlined, just need a day off to write it out. </p><p>...What, you thought these yahoos would only need one fic to get their shit together? Please</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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